Push and Pull
by Laura Schiller
Summary: What if Len had gone to look for Kahoko after her strings broke?


Push and Pull

By Laura Schiller

Based on: La Corda d'Oro

Copyright: Yuki Kure

Len would never forget the look on Hino's face as she left the stage with her broken-stringed violin. She was chalk-white, her mouth open, her eyes glazed like a wounded animal's. She looked exactly as she had on the day he had confronted her about her secret, the day he'd told her he could not accept her. For reasons he could not admit, not even to herself, those eyes of hers shook him to the core.

Judging by the breathless silence in the room, he was not the only one to feel this way. Tsuchiura scowled. Hihara, who had been slumped against the wall ever since his own lackluster performance, raked a hand through his hair. Even Yunoki and Shimizu seemed uneasy, and as for Fuyuumi, she looked positively ill.

"Er … shouldn't we go see if Kaho-sempai is all right?" asked the little clarinetist, voicing everyone's concern.

"Better not," Kanazawa replied grimly. "Wait 'til she calms down."

Ordinarily, Len would have agreed with such a policy. An unhappy woman was possibly the most irrational creature on Earth, and to be avoided at all costs. But something about this situation gave him an eerie sense of _déjà vu_, and it did not take long to remember why. He, too, albeit for different reasons, had once disappeared into a dark corner during what should have been his moment of success. He would not wish those endless minutes in the closet on anyone, but Hino – bright, sweet, sunny Hino Kahoko – least of all.

_What if Hino feels like I did then? What if she gives up hope of anyone coming to find her?_

Quietly, while the rest of the performers were distracted by Yunoki's flute playing, he slipped out the door and headed for the girls' dressing room.

His first move was to knock on the door – gently, then louder. No answer.

"Hino?" he called.

A muffled, feminine sob was the only sound he heard, but it was enough.

"Hino, may I come in?"

"N-no … please don't. I'm a mess. I don't want anyone to see me like this. What are you doing here anyway, Tsukimori-kun?"

How was he supposed to talk to her if he couldn't see her face? Communication was difficult enough for him at the best of times, especially with her. Exasperation got the best of him.

"Oh, for – ! I told you you'd break a string if you overstressed them, didn't I? If you'd only listened … "

_Damn it. _He clenched his fist against the door. This was not what he'd come here to tell her – not that he knew what to tell her, at any rate. Stil, it was true – if she had listened to his advice, she would not have had break off her performance in tears.

"You're right, Tsukimori-kun," she said, in a voice so subdued it was barely audible through the thick wood.

Len was speechless. Such simple acquiescence, from the girl who threw flowerpots at bullies and shouted at him through the closet doors, worried him more than anything else had done so far.

"You were right," she sobbed. "I put too much pressure on my violin … I really have no right to compete with you all. I thought if I worked extra hard, if I practiced 'til my fingers hurt, I could … but there's no point now."

_There's no point now …_ she was turning into him, in all the wrong ways. Was this a consequence of the way they had shaped each other, musically and otherwise, over this past year? Was this the tradeoff for the way she made him smile and his instrument weep?

"Don't say that to me," he said, deliberately repeating her words from the closet conversation.

"Tsukimori-kun … "

"Don't you see, Hino? You're contradicting yourself. How can you say you have no right to compete, when you admit yourself how hard you've been working?"

There was a long silence, in which she seemed to be absorbing what he'd said.

"You have no idea," she said finally, with a bleak little laugh. "If you knew the whole story, you'd think I was crazy. Or lying. Or both."

"And I told you, I don't care about your secret," remembering their altercation after Osaki's lesson with the children. "Well, all right, I _am_ curious," with the wry smile only she could get out of him. "But to me, it wouldn't matter if that violin of yours were enchanted by the school fairy himself – "

She gasped. "You _believe_ in him?"

"I don't, actually, but that's beside the point. No matter what you did … do you remember the time I asked you about your attitude toward music, and you couldn't answer?"

"Yes … " Her answer was wary, as if she expected him to verbally shoot her down as he had then.

"About that … I'm sorry. It was wrong for me to say … well … what I said."

_I cannot accept you._ Those words, and the hurt in her eyes before she whirled away, had been haunting him for weeks. He had denied knowing anything about her unhappiness to Tsuchiura and Hihara, and even to himself: after all, what did he know about her private life? It could have been anything. But oh, he understood. Rejection – by his classmates, the music world, his parents – had always been his own personal nightmare. How could he have inflicted that on Hino?

"Your attitude toward music is … complicated," he continued. "I can see that. Probably as complicated as my own. No wonder you couldn't answer my question. But, you do realize … this absolutely does _not_ make you unworthy of becoming a musician."

"Doesn't it?"

For the first time, he could hear a breath of hope in her words. He stood up straighter, keeping one hand flat against the door, as if touching it would help him to better connect with her.

"On the contrary. You love the violin, don't you?"

"Oh, yes!"

In that one sigh, that one exclamation, he could hear her entire history: hours of practice, wild swings between frustration, pride, anxiety, despair and ineffable joy; remorse for the broken strings; and last but not least, a boundless empathy, for fellow musicians in general and the concours members in particular.

"You do. It shines through whenever you speak of it, whenever you play. When we first met, I was so caught up in perfecting my technique, winning prizes, living up to my parents' reputations, that all the joy had gone out of my performance.

"But you, Kahoko … you brought the joy of music back to me. I will never forget that."

He did not even realize until afterwards that he'd just gone and addressed her by her given name. He blushed, holding his breath as he waited for her reply. What an embarrassing thing to say, and all the more embarrassing for being true. It was not like him to bare his soul in a school hallway, no matter how deserted it was because of the concours.

"A broken string is easy to repair, you know. I could help you."

What he had meant as a neutral, face-saving bit of technical advice came out surprisingly low and gentle, as if he meant to repair more than her instrument – which, come to think of it, he did. Would she understand? Or would she turn the tables on him, which he quite possibly deserved, and reject him?

"Len?"

"Yes?" The sound of her speaking his own given name made the blood rush to his face all over again.

"I'll push from inside … so pull."

He would never forget the look on Kahoko's face as she stepped out of the dressing-room. She was blushing as well, radiant with it, golden eyes and scarlet hair shining like a sunrise. Neither of them would remember which of them had made the first move, but in a moment, she was in his arms.

_"Kahoko,"_ he whispered, stirring the soft silk of her hair.

For the moment, nothing more needed to be said.


End file.
